


Day Twenty-three: Arguing (AKA "Could this day get any worse? Seriously?" or An Average Day for James Bond and Alec Trevelyan)

by a_xmasmurder



Series: 30 Days of OTP: Bond/Q [23]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Action, Arguing, Fighting for their lives, Gen, It's a Bond Fic, M/M, Mission Fic, TW: Blood, There's a Lynx Helicopter, and things, injuries, there will be damage, tw: guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mission continues. Things go from "Well, it's bad, but it's not the worst thing ever" to "Jesus FUCKING Christ, why the HELL did I wake up today" in a stunning show of force. And...well, you know...Q has a wound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Twenty-three: Arguing (AKA "Could this day get any worse? Seriously?" or An Average Day for James Bond and Alec Trevelyan)

**Author's Note:**

> I warned everyone. This is a continuation of yesterday. I WARNED YOU ALL. This is not pretty things and cat ears.

“I am so glad I’m on the safe end of your bloody missions, James.” Q shook in his seat, either from fear or blood loss, he wasn’t sure. All he knew is that his boyfriend’s madhat dash beneath the Lynx had given them an avenue of escape. The bastards chasing them hadn’t expected that sort of move. Apparently, they didn’t know who they are chasing. "I don't think I could handle this much...excitement for very long."

“Worked, didn’t it?” James’s wild grin made Q’s lips curl up in amusement, but then a twinge of pain made him wince again.

“Yes, for the most part. Except now they are chasing us.”

Alec ducked through the broken rear window and fired three round bursts at the helicopter. "Yes, that's obvious!"

The chain gun on the nose of the Lynx responded, punching large holes into the boot and one through the roof of the car. Q shouted in shock and dismay as the round opened another hole in the floorboard between his feet. “Fuck, lose that son of a bitch before he kills us all!” Q wasn’t proud of how high his voice had gotten when he screamed, but it was expected. He had a bloody hole in his side, he was terrified, and...”God, please...” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. His brain was signalling the pain in his side now, and damned if it didn’t burn like hell.

“Evan! Q, stay with me, don't panic, I need you!” James swung a hard right, staying just in front of their pursuers. The car and truck behind them weaved in and out of the sudden staggering amount of traffic. “Where are we?”

Q blinked hard against the pain and fear shooting through his veins. “Shit...um, we are on...Ibn Gabirol...Okay. Go, just _gun it_!” He gasped as a hot poker was shoved up beneath his ribs. _“Oh, fuck!_ ” Tears sprang to his eyes, and his laptop slipped from numb fingers and hit the floorboards.

“Evan!” Alec shouted at the same time James hissed “Fuck, Q!” Q’s vision swam a bit. His ears started ringing, and he whimpered pitifully.

“I’m...fine, I’m _fine_ , just...oh, _God, keep going!_ ” He thrust out a bloody finger and pointed through the windscreen. “Go, damn it!” He bent over to grab his computer, but aborted as the pain got worse, _oh, so much worse._ “Ah, God _damn it!”_ His words came out on a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“Jesus, are you hit? Tell us, are you hit?” Alec’s hand was coming around, and Q elbowed him in the pectoral.

“Where’s our tails, Agent?” _Fuck, I didn’t want to say that, fuck, now Crabb’s going to know - but James has been calling me Q for a while now, what the hell..._ “Where are they?” He tried to put a commanding tone in his wavering voice, but he wasn't sure it made it, since he could barely hear over the buzzing...

Then, the rattle of gunfire rang out over them, and pockmarks appeared in the road ahead of them. James tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Hold on, guys!” He tried to steer around it, but _bugger fucking HUDs with reactive fucking whatever the hell, doesn’t matter_ because the gunfire followed his moves, and the bonnet of the Benz tore apart under the assault. Bond kept his foot on the pedal anyway, coaxing as much speed from the stricken engine as he could before it threw a rod -

“Or bursts into flame in a rather spectacular way,” he muttered bitterly as the flames touched off from what must have been tracer rounds flared up into the windscreen. He steered the car into a conveniently closed storefront, laying on the horn the whole way to scatter bystanders before he crashed through the glass, knocking over mannequins and racks of handbags. The car came to a rest against the side wall, covered in shoes and articles of clothing that were catching fire from the engine.

“Well. _That_ was entertaining. Up, let’s go, let’s move, _now_!” James fought with the air bag and jerked his safety belt off, turning to Alec, slapping his friend's shoulder. “Move!”

“On it. C’mon, mate. Crabb, Alex, get up, we have to go to Plan B.” Alec grabbed up his assault rifles, handing one to Bond, along with a brace of magazines.

"Bless your heart, Alec, it's what I've always wanted."

Alec smirked, a tiny rivulet of blood snaking from his hairline. “Meet you on the other side, James.”

“Yep.” He turned to a sagging Q and pushed at the man’s thin shoulder as Alec and Crabb exited the vehicle and high-tailed it to the back of the boutique. “Q, you awake? Q?”

Q moaned and blinked, lifting his head. His temple and side of his face was awash with fresh blood.

“Q, answer me!”

“Ya. Yes.” A limp hand slapped at Bond’s searching hands. “I’m awake. God. _Fuck_.” He dragged in a ragged breath. “Alive. Have to get out. Car’s on fire.”

“Yes, I know. But I need you to look at me. Can you do that?”

“I can do better than that, James.” He waved at his laptop on the floor. “I’ll get out under my own power, but I need you to get my things.” He yanked at his door handle. It didn’t budge. “Damn it, must be stuck. I’ll need a screwdriver or a acetylene cutting torch. Either would do.”

 _Shock. He’s in shock. Fuck._ James kicked open his own door and held out his hand. “Q, come out this way. I think you hit your head -”

“Of course I hit my head, you bastard. I’m not riding with you ever again.” Q twisted and hissed out a high pitch whine of pain. “Well, if you are being attacked by a helicopter - oh for the love of _fucking shit_...” He coughed through the smoke from the fire and pointed back the way they came.

“Motherfucker. Alright. Come on, I don’t think they can see us yet...”

Gunfire rattled around them, rounds sparking and pockmarking off of concrete and metal. Q sighed. “Would you like to buy a vowel?”

“You are not making sense. We need to go, now.”

“Yes, I _know_. Fuck.” Q finally tumbled out, landing on his bad side, and the scream he let out told James everything he needed to know. A tightly coiled ball of fury boiled in his gut at the sight of blood, but he couldn't stop to worry about it now. They needed to get the hell out of there post-haste. He hauled the hacker to his feet and yanked the laptop and messenger bag off the seat, then half-dragged half-carried him over the rubble and to the back of the store.

  
  
  
  
  


The rear door led to a tight alleyway that they could get lost in, and that was a good thing right now. Really fucking good. They made slow headway, Bond not wanting to stop until they found some sort of shelter and Q in a bad way, and the annoyance of their pursuers. A few times, Bond had to set Q down on the alley floor to take aim at the men following them. Each of those times, Q had brought out his Walther and taken down one or two men with him. _Good, he’s still awake and thinking. Hell, better than thinking, even. Thank God._ He kept an eye out for the helicopter as they made their escape, but save for a couple of passes, it seemed to be gone, its job done.

After their third dead end and millionth turn, Bond found an alcove they could tuck themselves into so that he could take a look at Q’s injury - a bullet wound.  _God fucking damn it and buggering shit. Fucking...damn it._  He had to keep Q's spirits up as he examined the wound.

“You know, I thought you lost your turn when you couldn’t solve the puzzle.” The non sequitur Q said had started making sense about five minutes ago, though he could chalk it up to his own injury - he’d picked up a ricochet along the way somewhere, his left leg now burning and bleeding. He pulled the suit jacket away from Q’s side and ripped open the fabric of his very nice Savile Row shirt.

“See, there you go, ruining my shirts again.” Q’s quiet slur was setting off alarms in his head.

“I can buy you a new one.”

“You...already did.”

Bond looked up at Q, arranging a encouraging smile on his face. “Yes, I did. And now I ruined it again. Just stay with me, alright?”

“I’m here, James...said I wasn’t going to leave you.” Q’s head drooped a bit, and he blinked. “Can’t get rid of me this easily.”

Bond chuckled, and yanked off his tie to use as a compress for the bullet wound in Q’s side. “Didn’t plan on it. Hush, now.”

“Was Alec able to get Crabb’s briefcase?” Q bounced his head off the brick wall behind him, _probably in an attempt to keep_ _conscious_ , James thought. _God know I've done it hundreds of times_. “If he didn’t, this whole thing was a waste of time.”

"Not sure."

“Alright.” Q sighed and slumped forward against Bond’s shoulder. The agent’s heart leapt into his throat until Q spoke. “I’m very tired. Side pocket of my bag, energy drink.”

“Nope. Not until I know this hasn’t done damage to your stomach or...worse. Can you breathe alright?”

Q blinked against his throat. “I’m fine, just...losing blood. I’m fine. Tired.”

“Damn it.” Bond turned, hearing the sound of footsteps, and slid out his handgun. “Stay here. Hold this down, put pressure on it. Don’t let up on it.” He tipped Q back and stared at him until he nodded, pressing his cold fingers against Bond’s hot sticky hand. Then the agent stepped away, out into the alley proper, gun at the ready - and felt his heart hit the ground.

“Holy fuck, Alec!” He shut down the panicked voice in the back of his head when he saw his best friend being helped along by the very man they are supposed to be protecting; training kicked in again and he just moved forward to take over. Alexander Crabb was near hysterics.

“We were running, they were following us, and Mr. Trevelyan shoved me into a store and, and - “

Bond held up one hand to halt the man’s verbal vomit as he pushed Alec against a wall. “Alec! Talk to me, mate. How bad?”

“Oh, for Pete's sake, calm down, James. Don’t make me shoot you in the foot.” He looked at Bond with cool green eyes, clear and sparking with fury and pain. “Couple grazes, twisted my knee, probably busted my ankle. Where’s Evan?”

“Here, I’m awake, tie’s soaked, can I get something more absorbent, please?” The Quartermaster’s thin, weary voice carried out of the alcove, and Alec turned his head towards him.

“That sounds good. I think I have a pad you can use.” He slid out of Bond’s searching hands and knelt down, wincing as he brought his right knee around to prop it up. “Fuckin’ knees. Who needs them? Let’s take a look here.” As Bond watched, Alec pulled the sodden tie away and pulled a military compress out of his trouser pocket and ripped it open with his teeth. “You are going to be fine, Evan, yeah? How are you feeling?”

“Like I have a bullet in my side.”

“That’s good. At least you are feeling.” Alec pressed the pad up against the wound and used his own tie to supplement the wrap already there, making it very tight. “Bloody hell, you are tiny!”

Q looked very pale, but more awake. Awake. Damn it. Bond glanced down at the bag and found his suspicions were correct: the energy drink was gone. As a matter of fact, the little can was sitting right at Q's hip. Bond leaned forward and stared hard at the hacker.

“Didn’t I tell you not to drink that until I could tell if you had been shot in the stomach, you idiot?” A sudden flare of fury whipped through his head, fueled by the anger and pain and fear already there. “Don’t you fucking listen?”

“James,” Alec started, but Bond cut him off.

“Don’t fucking tell me to shut up!”

“James!” Q barked, strangely strong despite his pain.

Bond’s jaw clamped shut, just like that, and he blinked at the absolute best thing to ever happen in his life, who was currently so far out of his element that he actually fucking belonged there. Q looked like he was supposed to be tucked into a little corner of Tel Aviv, bleeding on a very expensive tie and trying to breathe around a broken rib. And wasn’t that the most horrific thought - that Q belonged at Bond’s side? Why? _Because he wasn’t panicking. Fuck, Q’s MI6 too, you keep fucking forgetting that he’s a smart man, has seen death, has caused death, and he fucking belongs, alright? He’s yours. And you let him get hurt._ Bond squeezed his eyes shut and pushed down that particular demon. _Shut up. He’s not supposed to be here. And I’m going to murder M when we get back. That man is dead, and Q and I will disappear. Take Alec and Eve and Tanner with us. Disappear to Maui or Indonesia or somewhere with a beach and a little bar and a few birds to take home to our beds._

“James?”

Bond looked back to Q, whose voice brought him back, and knelt down next to his lover, his boyfriend, and kissed his lips. The ugly voice reared again as Q kissed him back with a hint of coppery tongue traced along his bottom lip. _Soft. Softly, Bond, don’t break him any more than you already have._

_Shut the fuck up!_

“We should get going. I’ve got him as stable as I can with nothing to work with, and he’s actually doing well for a man with a hole in his side.” Alec pushed awkwardly to his feet, wincing. “I saw a garage that would be a cinch to break into, and Crabb here thinks he saw a Land Rover in it.”

“Good. Let’s get moving then, before that helicopter shows up again.” Bond leaned forward to get Q to his feet, only to be tugged into a weak hug.

Q’s breath washed over his ear as he whispered, “He’s got the case. We are still on track. Depending on if we lost our tails, we should try for the British Embassy.”

Bond was very careful as he lifted Q. “Evan, that sounds like a brilliant idea. If I knew where that Lynx disappeared to.”

Q leaned heavily on Bond’s side. “Just a thought.” He reached down and grabbed his messenger bag. “Can’t leave this behind, can we?” A small smile played at his lips, and Bond tried one on for him.

“No, we can’t.” _Fucking energy drink. Damn it._

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Here we are.”

The walk/limp/stagger to the garage was rather uneventful, something Bond and Trevelyan hadn’t expected. They were on even more of an edge because of it. Bond propped Q up against the whitewashed wall, trying not to notice the drying and fresh blood blossomed on the once-lovely suit jacket. Even the trousers were ruined. Q made a noise, somewhere between a yelp and a groan, and sank to his rear, leaving a red stain on the wall behind him. Bond’s lungs stopped working for a while, long enough for him to reach down and have Q swat his hand away.

“Not.. _.fucking_...dead. Stop hovering. Just tired.”

“Alright.” He turned his head to Alec, who gestured with one hand at the door. “What?”

“Oh, after you, mate. I’m not kneeling with this fucking knee, not again.”

“Fine.” Bond squatted and dug out his lock-picking tools out of his jacket pocket, ignoring the burning pain in his leg as he worked the lock open in less than a minute. The rattle of the metal door couldn’t be helped, and he and Alec kept eyes out for any of the enemy...whomever they were as they opened the garage door and smiled. “Perfect.” He turned and reached down for Q again to find him lying on his side in the dirt. _Oh, Jesus CHRIST_.

“Q!” He dropped to his knees and shook the man’s shoulder. “Fuck, Q, don’t do this to me, damn it...”

Q let out a pained grunt, and his eyelids flew open. “Oh, shit, I passed out. I’m sorry, so sorry. It’s hot, and I’ve got the shivers, which isn’t actually a good thing if I’m cold in the middle of the desert sun, is it?” Almost as if to punctuate what he said, he shivered violently against the ground, and smacked his already bloody temple against the dirt. “Wake _up_ , damn it. I still have to give you directions!” He struggled to a sitting position.

“Come on, up. Lean on me again, we'll get out of here.” Bond looped Q’s arm around him and helped him over the random crap laying around. Crabb attempted to do the same for Alec, but the agent brushed him off as politely as he could, pushing the man past him to the back.

“I want front seat, James.” Q’s eyelids drooped for a moment, his body relaxing against Bond. With a jerk, he snapped them back open, only to have them start their downward track again. “Dammit.” He reached out and grabbed the door handle, jerking it open with a pained grunt and sort of half-pulling, half-pushing himself into the seat. He jerked off the suit jacket and pulled the safety belt over his body as James and Alec climbed in after their charges. He folded the jacket up and stuffed it underneath the belt, against his side, hissing out a breath. “I need another energy drink.”

“No.” James grunted.

“Yes, damn it, or I’m going to be of no fucking use to you at all!” Q slammed his fist against the dash, making everyone jerk. “Fucking...look, just...we are on a mission, yes?”

James closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“How many times have I told you not to jump off a buggering building, and you did it anyway, for the mission? For _England_?”

James sighed.

“Give me an energy drink out of my bag, Alec?” Q held his hand out, and Alec obeyed. James shot him a dirty look.

“Traitor.”

“Arsehole. I get what he’s saying -”

“Fuck it, I _know_ , alright?” _Looks like everyone’s having a temper tantrum today._ “Alright. Fuck. Alright.” He flipped the visor down, and - “Oh, brilliant. Lovely. Thank God. Keys.”

“And another goal for the home team!” Alec smiled, and rooted around in his pockets. “And James?”

“Yes?”

“Drive fast, because I have one clip left for this baby, and I'm pretty sure Dickwad Helicopter is still out there.”

“Alright.”

 


End file.
